


Finding Home

by AmalynnJon



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-10 17:13:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7853899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmalynnJon/pseuds/AmalynnJon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After she left Alexandria, she was determined to be exactly who she told those men she was on the road.  She was nobody.  Not really from anywhere.  Not really going anywhere.  Having a home and having a family was dangerous.  If you loved someone, it meant you would have to kill to protect them.  Little did she know that by leaving Alexandria, home was exactly what she was going to find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my ever faithful beta Jen.

She was warm, comfortably so.  The kind of warmth that makes you feel safe and at peace, it was nice.  She could hear a soft dinging somewhere deep in her mind that had her caught in a trance, hypnotized by the monotonous sound, _beep...beep...beep_.   It called to her, the cadence pulling her from the dark silence.  She shifted slightly and pain seared through her leg causing her to let out a low moan.  

“It’s alright,” a soft voice whispered to her, warm breath blowing against her ear.  “You need to take it slow, the nurse has given you something to help with the pain.”

Her eyes blinked, opening slowly, squinting against the harshness of the bright lights that assaulted her.  Her vision was slightly blurry, as if she had just awoke from a long nap.  She focused in on the figure sitting next to her.  Blond hair, petite, a woman - _no_ , a child.  Her heart constricted.  Had she died?  Had she made it to heaven?   _Sophia_.  Her vision grew clearer, brown eyes, no freckles - not Sophia.  She closed her eyes tightly as disappointment washed over her.  This wasn’t Heaven, if it was God had a cruel sense of humour, perhaps that was true anyhow.  

She felt the young girl put a cold cloth against her brow, a heaviness engulfing her entire body, slumber once again pulling her into its depths.

Before she was completely enveloped she heard, “It was good to see you awake Ms.Peletier.  Everything’s going to be just fine now.”

* * *

 The next time she woke, cruel reality was staring her in the face.  

“Good morning,” Morgan smiled.

She grunted out something that was reminiscent of a reply, misery etched in every syllable.  Every inch of her felt like it was on fire.  She could ignore the pain that encompassed every bone, every muscle, but the agony that surrounded her heart could not be as easily pushed aside.  She was alive, that much she could tell.  She had been ready to die there on the road.  Ready to face whatever fate would be cast upon her.  Praying, perhaps foolishly, that she would be reunited with her baby girl.  Hoping that her decision to stop killing would win her some favour with God.  She wanted desperately to see her sweet Sophia’s face once more.  That was not to be, it seemed like she was forever stuck in this hell on earth, her eternal punishment, her damnation for the sins she had committed.  Now, she had no idea where the hell she was and she was stuck with the one man in the world that had the amazing ability to irritate her in a thousand different ways.

“You’re looking well,” he mused, his eyes busy looking her over, “Colour’s back in your cheeks - that’s real good.  Linda just gave you a dose of morphine.  The pain should subside in a few minutes.”

She let out a low growl, “I don’t want that!”  Wasting precious resources on her was stupid.  She didn’t need it, hell, Ed had left her worse off on more than one occasion over the years.  She had survived without morphine then, this was no different.  Plus, she needed a clear head, needed to figure out what exactly Morgan had dragged them into.  The man could not be trusted when it came to his opinion about others.  

“Now’s not the time to get into all that,” Morgan replied to her outburst, his tone gentle and patient, making her want to scream.  She bit her lip, not wanting to make a scene in front of the woman busily writing on a piece of paper, who she assumed was Linda.  She couldn’t afford to give any part of herself away in front of a stranger.  In the wrong hands, that information could get you killed or worse - get the people you loved killed.

She took the opportunity to study Morgan as he quietly chatted with the woman.  He seemed lighter, happier.  Almost like he had a sense of purpose again.  She swallowed back the envy that rose in her throat.  There could be none of that.  She had made her decision back in Alexandria, she had hated what she had become and the purpose she had served.  She could no longer infect her family with the monster that had blossomed inside of her.  She didn’t plan on staying around this place either.  Whether these people were friends or enemies, it didn’t matter, both were a liability.   She would leave before she could inflict her demons on these people.  

She looked around at her surroundings.  The room was set up like a typical hospital room, a single bed, a couple chairs, a heart monitor, IV - very reminiscent of Grady, the thought sending a chill up her spine.  It wasn’t a hospital though.  She could make out small ledges against a couple of the walls and what looked like old chalkboards which had been haphazardly covered with some old white sheets.  A school perhaps?

She closed her eyes, trying to recall anything she could about being brought here.  Vague images of horses, and of waking up on the ground and watching grown men in armour chasing pigs were the only things she could conjure.  Her brow furrowed, she must have been hallucinating.  God, she was so damn tired.

Hearing the shuffle of a chair growing closer, she opened one of her eyes to see Morgan settling down beside her, his hands folded in front of him, his arms resting on his legs as he leaned towards her.

“You’ve made good progress, you’ll be up and walking real soon.”

She said nothing.  If he knew her like he claimed he did, then he would know that she was out of here as soon as she could walk.

As if reading her thoughts, his voice grew more intense,  “These people Carol - they’re _good_.  They got something worthwhile going on here.  I really think this place could be good for us.”

Her eyes flew open, glaring at him, annoyed.  “I’m not staying,”

“I won’t let you die out there.”

“The choice isn’t yours to make.”

Their eyes locked, fighting a battle that had been ongoing for weeks.  One that neither one of them were willing to back down from.  Kill. Don’t kill.  Leave.  Don’t leave.  Die.  Don’t die.  A never ending cycle of disagreements.  

Morgan gave his head a shake, breaking eye contact with her, “You need rest.  I’ll be back tomorrow to show you around.”

She was too exhausted to argue, her eyes already losing the struggle to stay open.  The last thing she saw before falling back into darkness was Morgan watching over her, worry lines etched across his brow.  

* * *

Morgan, true to his word, showed up the next morning, wielding a wheelchair to usher her around in.  She eyed it stubbornly, torn between wanting to investigate this place and not wanting to depend on Morgan for anything.  Her curiosity won out.  He pushed her down a couple of hallways, high ceilings, marbled floors, lockers lined along the walls, confirming her suspicion that they were indeed holed up in an old school.

Along the way they passed a few people.  Mostly men, she noted, some of them dressed in armour, like the visions from her memory.  One young man, nodded as she and Morgan passed, _Ma’am_ , he greeted.  The formality, along with how her bones ached, made her feel like she was 100 years old.  

She knew she had seen the man before though, prompting the question of the vision she couldn’t quite shake.  “Were you chasing pigs?”

She heard Morgan groan behind her, “A very long story, best left for another time.”

Her eyebrow raised, her vague recollections seemed to stem from truth.  She stored the information away to inquire about at a later time.

They walked through a set of double doors into the bright sunshine.  She squinted her eyes against the intense light.  Linda had informed her that she had been out for several days.  Her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, to being only in doors.  It took her a moment to adjust.  When her vision was finally clear, she took in her surroundings.  There were rows and rows of planted food in wooden boxes that had been made into gardens.  It was quite impressive.  People were everywhere.  Walking around, tending to the fruits and vegetables that were growing.  She noticed that the lack of women and children in the hallways hadn’t meant there were none, they all seemed to be outside.  The entire setup reminded her of the prison, but on a grander scale and her heart ached.

“Everyone has a job.  The produce they yield is enough to feed them all, plus the Sanctuary,” Morgan explained.

“The Sanctuary?”  

He cleared his throat, “Again, a topic for-”

“Another time.”  She finished for him, rolling her eyes at his antics, irritation rising to the surface.

Seeming to sense her ire, he paused, bringing her chair to a complete stop, “There is a lot to tell but I want to show you what they have accomplished,”. He said, his voice rising with passion.  “They are extraordinary at taking the little they have and turning into so much more.”

She didn’t say anything, knowing full well that this was typical Morgan.  He always focused on things he perceived were beneficial and good and he never gave enough thought to the negative and the consequences that sprung from that.  To her, that was one of his greatest weaknesses and it was that weakness that put people in danger.  It was just something she could not condone.  

They began their journey once again, slowly walking through the plants. There were tents everywhere, set up in small communities. She reasoned that it must have been where everyone slept.  It was hard for her to make out how secure this place was.  She could see a wire fence in the distance that she assumed must surround the entire school lot.  And beyond that it looked like a wall of trucks, maybe school buses.  It was something she would have to explore more so she could figure out how the hell she could get out.

Many people would stop what they were doing as she and Morgan passed to offer a smile or a hello.  She fidgeted in her seat, uncomfortable, attempting to pay the various folks no attention.  Morgan was the complete opposite, greeting everyone, some even by name.   She had seen this before, these people, they were just like the people from Woodbury and those from Alexandria.  They were exactly like she used to be.  No idea how to fight, how to protect themselves, probably most of them having no real clue of the horrors that waited for them outside of their makeshift community.  It made her feel sick to her stomach.  She didn’t want to do this again.  She just couldn’t.

A small girl caught her eye and shyly waved her hand.  Her breath caught in her throat and she averted her gaze, blinking her eyes before any tears could threaten.  She needed to get away from there.  

“The sun’s bright,” she muttered.  “It’s giving me a headache.  Take me back inside.”

Morgan hummed in acknowledgement, “It’s time for our meeting anyhow,” he told her, turning the wheelchair back towards the school.  

“Meeting?  Who with?”  She tilted her head back so she could see his face.

“The man in charge,” he said, wearing a small grin.  He looked like a cat who had just caught the canary and it made her feel uneasy.  

She slumped down in the chair, realizing that she really had no choice in the matter.  Better to get it over with.  It was hard to know how she should play this meeting.  She was tired and she hurt all over, it made it harder to think things through.  Being weak and an invalid seemed like a pretty strong way to go about this.  

Morgan wheeled her down into a theatre, or an auditorium of some sort, kicking down the brake before disappearing through a side door beside a stage.  

She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair, the silence making her fidgety.  She couldn’t shake the feeling that something strange was going on.  What was with all the theatrics?

Her eye caught some movement at the back of the stage and she straightened up out of habit.  She could make out a shadow on the wall but it seemed quite low to the ground.  Her brow furrowed in puzzlement.

A large black and orange paw broke through the darkness and she couldn’t hold back her gasp as a huge tiger walked further onto the stage.  The creature was beautiful.  Big and strong, strutting majestically across the platform.  Her hands tightened around the arms of the wheelchair, her heart skyrocketing.  There was no use, she was unable to run, hell, she couldn’t even walk.  She was essentially trapped.  Of all the ways to die in this world, going out, being mauled to death by a tiger, hadn’t even crossed her mind.  

To her surprise, the animal sat down beside a chair in the middle of the stage she hadn’t even noticed.  She jumped slightly when she noticed a man standing tall next to the beast.  His skin dark and smooth, his dreads almost completely white.  An air of confidence surrounded him, it was absolutely captivating.  

He gently caressed the tiger and sat in the chair which could only really be described as a throne.  She could not tear her eyes away from the entire scene, dumbfounded by what she was witnessing

The tiger stood taller and opened its mouth letting out a sound that was ear shattering causing her to jump in surprised terror.  

The man once again placed his hand on the tiger’s head, bowing his head to her in greeting.

“I am King Ezekiel,” he crooned, “Welcome to the Kingdom.”

She stared at him, her eyes wide in disbelief.  Surely this wasn’t happening, it was just too bizarre, which said a lot in a world where the dead came back to life.

Overwhelmed, she did the only thing she could.  She threw her head back and laughed.  She laughed until tears fell down her cheeks, a high shrill sound escaping from her that had her sounding insane.  

“Carol?”  Morgan stood in the shadows, his voice laced with concern, which only caused her to laugh again.  Of course he had aligned himself with a madman with a tiger.

She shook her head, quieting, her sense of amused disbelief still hanging on, “I don’t know what the hell’s going on - in the most wonderful way.”

She turned to address Morgan, “Surely this is a joke or you have truly lost your mind.”

Morgan didn’t have a chance to answer before a deep, smooth voice floated down from the front of the auditorium,  “I can assure you this is no joke.”   He grinned, his eyes sparkling even from a distance. “And I’m sure we have all lost our minds at one time or another, Morgan would be in good company,” he mused.  

She regarded the man who spoke, a man who had just self claimed himself as king.  She raised an eyebrow, every one of her false pretenses forgotten in this bizarre turn of events.  “A tiger?  Really?”

“Ah,” he smiled, “Shiva is so much more than a tiger.”  He stroked the cat’s cheek, “Plus, I like to do things in style,” his grin widened, amusement danced in his eyes.

“Morgan has told me much about you Ms. Peletier,” he said.

She sobered at that, her shoulders stiffening, “Has he now.”

“He has, and yet you still remain a mystery.”  Ezekiel stood, muttering _‘_ _stay’_ to the wild beast before descending the stairs and walking towards her.  “But now,” he continued, “is not the time for my prying.  This was merely a time to introduce myself, to introduce Shiva - and welcome you to the Kingdom.”  He stopped in front of her,  “You may stay here as long as you like.”

“I won’t be staying.”  Her response was automatic.  Looking at this man she knew instinctively that he was someone who would not fall for any of her games.  A man who, even in his bizarre ways, still valued honesty in this world that was full of lies.

He nodded his head.  “The choice is yours of course, but you need a place to rest until you are well.  Our home is yours for however long you need it.”  

She nodded her head in acknowledgement of his words and averted her gaze.  He had this quiet intensity about him and even in this short time she could tell he oozed charisma and power even through his zany antics.  He was an enigma.  It both intrigued and unnerved her.  He was either a very effective leader or one very dangerous man. It didn’t matter though, she didn’t plan on sticking around to find out.

* * *

 The sun was hot against her skin and it felt wonderful, she closed her eyes and tilted her head upwards basking in the warmth so reminiscent of the Georgia weather she never thought she’d miss.  When the world goes to hell, it really is surprising what you end up missing.   

She was sitting outside on an overturned wooden crate peeling potatoes for the evening meal.  She was finally back walking and she was in constant frustration over how slowly her body was healing.  During that time she had done her best to avoid the people of this community, Ezekiel and his tiger and most of all Morgan and his need to try and reach her.

She could almost feel herself being pulled in by the kindness of the people here.  Almost caught herself smiling at the woman who waters the tomatoes every morning, almost offering her opinion on their new line of defence that they discussed at their weekly meeting, almost petting that damn tiger that Ezekiel parades around with like a maniac.  She might not have been completely healed but she knew that her time to leave had officially come.  Ezekiel had said she was free to go When they had first met  but had deemed her still not well enough just that morning and Morgan was constantly hovering, watching her every move.  Sneaking out was her only chance and tonight was the night.

For the last week, she had investigated every aspect of the Kingdom.  Where every guard was located, what time everyone switched duties, times where the gate was left unoccupied.  She had mapped every room, looked for every hiding spot and every weakness.  This place was well guarded and escaping would be difficult, but it wasn’t impossible.  The hardest obstacle she’d have to face would be the gate.  There was only one gate to enter or exit The Kingdom and much to her dismay it couldn’t be opened by one single person on their own.  She did however note that every morning around 5 am, one crew would leave and another arrive at the same time.  It often got chaotic. Her plan was to escape in all the excitement.  

She heard a motor rev in the distance and her heart jumped to her throat and then immediately crushed under the weight of disappointment.  It wasn’t a motorcycle.  It wasn’t Daryl.  She closed her eyes tightly, mentally chiding herself.  It was she who had walked away knowing full well she would never see her family again, never see _him_ again.  She still believed it was better this way, that they were better off without her there poisoning them with what she’d become.  It would have only gotten worse if she had stayed because with the world the way it was she would be forced to kill to protect them.  Protecting them was always her priority.  If she stayed it wouldn't take long for her to transform into something completely unrecognizable, it was hard even now for her to separate the true pieces of herself from the savage that lived within her.  What was true?  What was fake?  She truly didn’t know anymore.  There had been no hesitation when she had shot ‘Chelle to protect Maggie when they had been taken a few weeks back.  Her heart ached knowing that she would never get to meet Maggie and Glenn’s child, never get to witness them be the incredible parents she knew they would be.   _It was better this way_.

Her thoughts turned once again to Daryl.  The image of him throwing back the tiny bottle of Jack, guilt pouring out of every part of him when they had been digging Denise’s grave.  She had never met anyone with a heart like his, loyal, and protective, and pure.  When he felt like he had let someone down, he carried that with him, and always worked overtime to make it right.  He wouldn’t rest until he made it right with Denise, with Tara, that she knew.  She had tried to be there for him on that last day, she had wanted so desperately to reach out to him, reassure him that Denise’s death wasn’t on him, that he was the best man she had ever known, but she hadn’t.  Deep down, they both knew that if Daryl _had_ killed that man Dwight when he had had the chance, things very well _could_ have turned out differently.  It tore her apart inside knowing that Daryl too thought killing was the answer now and she just couldn’t be around to see one more person she loved torn apart inside like that, turning into someone different, someone unrecognizable.  

She briefly wondered how he had taken the news of her leaving Alexandria.  She knew he would be upset, perhaps even angry, but maybe there had been some relief in her departure.  She could still see the look of confusion the day she had moved out of their home with Rick and the others to go live with Tobin.  He hadn’t said a word, had just taken his crossbow and went hunting on the other side of the wall.  The distance that had happened between the two of them would be something she’d always mourn.  The Carol that she had needed to be in Alexandria had been necessary for her sanity, she couldn’t afford to break down or _feel_.  She could have never been that Carol with Daryl truly _looking_ at her and so she had slowly pushed him away.  

She looked up, in surprise, at the sound of the gate opening.  The gate never opened at this time of the day, only at dawn and dusk, unless there was an emergency.  She slowly stood, wrapping her hand around her knife handle, her heart pounding.  A bunch of men from the Kingdom entered, greeting no one and heading directly inside.

“What’s going on?”  She asked Morgan who had appeared beside her.  

“Captives - from The Sanctuary - they escaped and are seeking refuge here.”

_The Sanctuary_.  She had heard rumblings all throughout the Kingdom about this Sanctuary, about the Saviours and the elusive man named Negan.  Rick had thought he’d killed Negan - turned out he hadn’t.  Morgan had tried to use this information to get her to return to Alexandria with him, warn the others.  She agreed that they needed to be warned, and silently feared that perhaps they were already too late, she knew exactly what they were capable of, but she refused to accompany him.  He and another man, whose name she couldn’t recall, were to leave that very evening to go and inform Rick and the others.  Which was why her escaping in the morning was imperative.  

* * *

 

It was damp and a slight chill clung in the air.  She peeked around the corner, seeing if it was clear and if the guards were at their proper posts.  Her heart was beating erratically, high on alert.  No team was set to go out that morning because of the new guests they had received the previous day.  It was nearly time for the men that were out to return and for her to try and make her getaway.  She hefted her bag further up her shoulder, leaning against the wall to catch her breath, doing her best to ignore the pain in her leg.  

A trail of smoke caught her eye.  A single figure stood out in the distance smoking a cigarette.  This was new.  No one was ever out here at this time.  The figure turned slightly and her breath caught in her throat and her knees nearly gave out.  A pair of angel wings glowed in the moonlight.  Angel wings that she knew in intimate detail, every line, every stitch.  Had he found her?  The hope that sprung forward in her chest surprised her.  Tears filled her eyes as she took a tentative step forward on shaky limbs.  The figure moved, the moonlight giving her a clearer picture and she stopped dead.  The person was too petite, the hair, too smooth.  A tear of disappointment escaped down her cheek.  Her face scrunched in confusion, it was a woman, but she knew with 100 percent certainty that the vest belonged to Daryl.  Panic gripped her heart.

She moved automatically, grabbing her knife and quietly stalked after her prey.  She had her knife at the woman’s throat before she could even make a sound of protest.  

Who the hell are you?” she snarled.  “And where in the hell did you get that vest.”

She could hear the woman’s surprised gasp, her body tensing with fear.  

“My - my husband -” she stuttered.

She tightened her hold on the woman, yanking her closer.

“Try again,” she growled, “Where - did you - get the - vest?”

“It’s the truth,” the woman argued, her voice high and jittery.  “My hus-husband gave it to me but - but it belonged to a man before - a man named Dixon.”

She bit her lip, fighting back the urge to cry out, terror consuming her entire body.  She didn’t want to know, but she had to.

She pulled her knife away from the woman’s throat, spinning her roughly to face her making sure to keep her knife pointed at the woman’s face.  “Where is he?”  She demanded, her voice cracking, betraying her.  

The woman studied her with curious trepidation and something flickered in her eyes, a recognition of some sort.  

The next words out of the woman’s mouth nearly knocked her over.

“Oh my God,” the woman quietly breathed, “You’re Carol.”


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh my God," the woman quietly breathed. "You're Carol."

Her grip on her knife faltered. How could this woman possibly-

Realization dawned. _Daryl_. "Where is he?" She hadn't meant for her voice to sound so desperate.

The woman's eyes widened. "Holy shit...it really _is_ you. I thought for sure you were dead."

She didn't know who this woman was or what the hell she was talking about but at that moment she only gave a damn about one thing.

She thrust her knife closer to the woman's face, "Where is he?" She growled.

The woman sighed, casting her eyes to the ground before bringing them back up to make eye contact. "He's being held captive at The Sanctuary."

"Captive? He's being held captive?" she repeated, her tone confused. "Why?"

"He got too emotional - made a mistake. If he had just stayed quiet -" The woman shook her head, "Negan doesn't appreciate emotional outbursts."

"Is he hurt?" It took everything she had to keep her voice steady.

The woman regarded her quietly, a brief flash of uncertainty flickered in her eyes. The woman was anxious and that worried her.

"He was shot - and he almost died from the fever that resulted from that."

Her heart dropped.

"And now?"

"Physically he is healing. Emotionally and mentally though - "

She didn't listen for the rest. She holstered her knife and swiftly turned, walking away from the woman. Her brain was a whirlwind, she couldn't think straight. The people that had taken she and Maggie now had Daryl. They were dangerous and they didn't give a shit about anyone. Every part of her that had vowed to remain passive, to not kill was pushed aside. Rage swirled within her. A fury that just yesterday terrified her now filled her with purpose. A purpose that she needed to immediately act upon.

Her heart pounded erratically and she walked with a determination she hadn't felt in a long time, Daryl the only thing on her mind.

"Where are you going?"The woman's voice was right behind her, following her, but she paid her no mind.

She walked into the school, passed the infirmary and the theatre, turned right, passing the dining hall and stopped directly in front of Ezekiel's sleeping quarters.

The guard at the door put up his hand, stopping her.

"I need to see Ezekiel," she demanded.

The guard grimaced, not appreciating her informalities.

She rolled her eyes, " _King_ Ezekiel _._ "

"He is meeting with the team that just got back. You are not permitted."

"Well, why don't you make it so I _am_ permitted."

"Once he is done, I can tell him you wish to be received by him. I can make no promises. Is this an emergency?"

She huffed in annoyance, not wanting to explain herself to one of Ezekiel's lackeys.

"No. No emergency. I'll deal with it myself," she muttered.

Turning on her heel, she stalked away, passing by the woman that had taken it upon herself to follow her all the way there.

"Jesus Christ," the woman muttered, turning to once again follow her. "Now where are you going?"

She ignored her and walked back to the room she had been staying. Ezekiel had insisted she stay indoors because of her injuries. She had said it wasn't necessary, but the man was proving to be just as stubborn as she was.

She grabbed her bag and began to shove the few items that she claimed as her own inside. She would just have to take care of things herself. Get to Daryl on her own. She had done it before. She was capable.

"You can't go on your own."

"Watch me."

"Negan will use you against him."

Something in the tone of the woman's voice stopped her. She put her bag down and slowly turned to give the woman her full attention.

The woman took a shaky breath, "The things he has forced me- my husband - to do-" She trailed off, her eyes drifting to the ground.

She looked up again, meeting her gaze. "I'll help you. Daryl's a good man. I owe him."

"Why?"

"My husband and I - we finally made a break - got away from Negan and we ran into Daryl." She shook her head, disgust etched across her face. "He helped us and we just took all of his shit and left him there."

It all became clear then.

"You're from the forest," she quietly growled, remembering Daryl's recount of his ordeal while he had been helping relocate the herd, running into the couple and all the havoc they caused. _Denise_. "He should have killed you."

The woman laughed without any humour attached to it. "Yeah. He should have. Life would have been a hell of a lot easier."

They stood there, quietly assessing the other. After a few moments of silence, the woman spoke again. "Name's Sherry. You are Carol, right?

It was pointless to lie at this point. She nodded her head once.

"How'd you know?"

"Honestly? It was a guess. Your reaction to seeing Daryl's vest," Sherry said, shrugging off the article of clothing and handing it over to her.

She took it without hesitation, grasping the leather tightly in her hand. She ran her thumb along the edges of the angel wings. The smooth, worn, familiar feel of it giving her some comfort.

"That doesn't tell me how you know my name," she mused, looking back up at Sherry.

"He called for you."

"What?"

"When he had his fever. He was delirious and wouldn't stop calling out for a Carol."

Her breath caught in her throat and tears filled her eyes. It broke her heart that he had needed her and she hadn't been there. She tried to not focus on the fact that she had left him in the first place, had left everyone.

"You his wife?" Sherry asked.

She closed her eyes, a myriad of emotions washing over her at the question. "No," she answered, her voice just above a whisper.

"He's-".

What was he? A Friend? She hadn't really been a great friend these last few months. Constantly pushing him away, focusing on her need to forget everything and feel something aside from the pain that encased her heart. Before Alexandria and before Rick banished her from the prison she had felt that perhaps she and Daryl could have been on the cusp of more than friendship. Everything was so mixed up now, she truly didn't know how to define what they were to one another.

_Love_ , her mind screamed. Yes, that was one thing that she knew with certainty. She loved Daryl. She always would.

"We're friends."

Sherry gave her a look that said she wasn't buying it.

"This world is too fucked up," she said. "You need to grab on to the things that matter and never let go."

All of her defenses kicked in, "You don't know anything about me - about him," she lashed out.

Sherry's eyes flashed and narrowed, equally frustrated, "Well right now, I know where he is and you don't."

Her entire body deflated at Sherry's words. She was right. Yelling and full blown suspicion was not going to get her the information she needed. She closed her eyes for a moment to regain her composure. _Inhale. Exhale._

"What's it going to take to get him back," she finally asked.

"More than just you. You're injured and Negan - Negan is a fucking bastard who's smart and dangerous. He will do whatever it takes to make you bend to his will." She grew quiet and vacantly stared off into space. "Whatever he's done to you - there's always more," she said, her face a picture of unspeakable horrors.

Her stomach churned. What exactly did this Negan do to this woman? What had he done to Daryl?

"You said Daryl was alright - physically?"

Sherry nodded her head, "Yes, physically he will heal-" She left the sentence hanging, indicating that there was so much more going on.

She took a breath to steady her nerves, "Tell me," she demanded

"He's locked away from the other prisoners. He was striped of everything. They treat him like he's an animal - _worse_ than an animal. Negan is trying to wear him down, make him buckle, make him turn on your group."

She balled her hand into a fist, to prevent herself from reacting physically to the statement, her fingernails digging painfully into her palm. "He would never turn on them."

"You're not getting it," Sherry cried out, frustrated. "Negan _always_ gets what he wants by whatever means necessary, no matter _who_ or what he has to destroy."

"Daryl would die before _that_."

"And what would he do if the others were threatened?" Sherry interjected, forcefully trying to make her point. "If _you_ were threatened? Would he kill for the people he loves? Would you?"

She didn't say anything, knew Sherry could tell by her expression that she would kill for those she loved, that she _had_ killed. She knew Daryl would do whatever it took to protect their family as well and that made her heart ache. She never wanted him to feel the way she did or to experience the agony that resided in her heart.

"How did this happen?" She vaguely recalled Morgan mentioning that Daryl had left Alexandria before he knew she had gone. He hadn't said anything about why, but she knew the reason. She had seen the need for retribution for Denise's death in his eyes. It had scared the hell out of her.

"Dwight -my husband - found Daryl and some of the others from your group. Negan had given strict orders to bring them in - he had….," she winced, pausing a moment, "plans."

"Plans?"

"Your group - they killed a lot of our men. Negan needed you all to see that he was the one in control. Dwight knew that Daryl would be a dead man if he was brought back to Negan. He's strong and smart and loyal - to someone else. All liabilities."

Sherry took a step towards her, an earnest expression on her face, "You see, Dwight shot Daryl to protect him."

"And now he's captive!" She cried out. She knew that would be worse than death for him and that tore her apart.

Sherry bowed her head, running a hand through her hair, "That was unexpected. Like I said - Negan doesn't like outbursts."

Her chest tightened, and her heart began to beat in a quick, almost painful rhythm. In a dangerous situation Daryl wouldn't just lose his cool - unless-

"Why the outburst?" She whispered.

Sherry swallowed heavily, licking her lips before making eye contact once more. "Negan killed two of your people."

Her shoulders sagged and her head dropped forward, she bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out. A shudder ran down her entire back. She wanted to run away from this conversation, erase the whole morning and go back to imaging her loved ones happily living their lives with her gone. It was too late, the unknown was killing her.

"Who?" She tried to keep her voice steady, calm.

"I'm sorry - I - I don't know."

She cried out in frustration, kicking the leg of the bed before she began to pace the room.

Sherry walked into her space forcing her to stop, lowering her head to try and catch her eye. "I know I can never make right all the things I've done," she began, her long brown hair shadowing her face, "but I'm going to help you get Daryl back, even if I have to die to do it."

* * *

The last six days had been spent learning everything she could about Negan and the Sanctuary from Sherry. She shuddered remembering all the gory details of how Negan treated his prisoners, his enemies, and even those who were loyal to him. It was sick. _He_ was sick. Knowing Daryl was being held captive by that madman made her feel ill. She was doing her best not to think about the two members of her group that were dead. Her focus for now needed to be on Daryl, on getting him the hell out of there.

Ezekiel had assured her that a plan was forming to strike the Sanctuary, but timing was key. Patience was key. Patience was not something she possessed though when it was Daryl that was at stake, which was why she was learning everything she could from Sherry. She would do what she had to. Daryl would not be there any longer than he had to be.

She was on her way to see the leader of the Kingdom at the moment. He had sent for her to meet him in the conference room. She hoped that he was going to tell her that their plan was finally ready to be set into action.

His guard stood manning the door.

"Ms Peletier," Nick greeted her, opening the door.

She mumbled ' _Good morning_ ' before entering _._

Her eyes widened when instead of Ezekiel, her eyes fell onto Morgan.

"You're back." In all that had happened, she had completely forgotten about Morgan leaving to go back to Alexandria. Her breathing grew erratic and her heart rate picked up speed. He'd know who had been killed, who they had lost. Fear engulfed her.

"Just this morning," Morgan said. He paused a moment, seeming to collect his thoughts. "I didn't come back alone."

The connecting door opened and her eyes filled with tears. Rick stood looking back at her, his own eyes full. There were heavy bags under his eyes, it looked like he hadn't slept in days. He had lost weight and was a sickly pale, his beard was rivalling their days on the road. Had he even been taking care of himself?

He stood unmoving, waiting to see what she would do. She stepped towards him, unable to help herself, and in one stride he was embracing her. She buried her face into his neck and couldn't help the tears that fell as Rick chanted _thank God, thank God, thank God_ into her ear.

When they finally pulled apart, Morgan was gone, leaving them alone in the room. They stood there, watching one another. She was at a loss of what to say. There was so much she wanted to know, but she was terrified. Once the information was out there, that was it...it was real. Rick wouldn't meet her eyes and she knew it was bad - so very bad.

"Rick," she whispered,not being able to take it anymore. His head jerked up and his expression took her breath away. His anguish evident.

"Tell me, who did he kill?"

If he was surprised by her knowing, he didn't let it show. He took a deep breath, "Abraham," he finally mumbled.

She closed her eyes. She hadn't known Abraham very well, had been determined to not let people in by the time they had been introduced to one another. He was a big personality and she had appreciated his sense of humour. Her heart broke for Rosita and Sasha and for Eugene.

The news wasn't over though. Sherry had said there were two people from the group that were killed. She found herself looking to Rick once again.

He was even more pale and his eyes were red.

"Who else?" her voice cracked.

She watched him visibly swallow, his hand shook as he reached up to brush a strand of hair out of his face and he finally met her gaze.

"Glenn," he whispered, the name barely audible.

Bile rose in her throat and she felt her knees buckle. She grabbed the table and lowered herself onto the chair closest to her before she could fall over.

" _No_ ," Her whisper was harsh, desperate. Rick was wrong. He had to be. Not Glenn. Out of them all, Glenn was the one who deserved death the least. He was still so hopeful, still so positive and pure and kind in a world that was full of hateful things.

_Maggie_. _The baby._

She shook her head. "No," she repeated, more forcibly. He was going to be a father. He was still needed so much.

"I'm sorry," Rick muttered, his voice low and shaky. Whether he was apologizing for having to deliver the news or because he felt responsible, she was unsure. Knowing Rick like she did though, it was likely the latter.

She felt the urge to assure him that this wasn't his fault but she hadn't been there, she hadn't seen what happened.

_She hadn't been there_.

What if she had been there? Could she have stopped this? Perhaps the blame rested on her.

_You should have been there_ , her mind screamed. Her head fell into her hands and she couldn't help the tears that fell as she mourned the life of the sweetest and kindest young man she had ever known and the life that he would never get to live, the son or daughter he would never meet.

"Carol."

Rick's voice quietly broke into her mourning.

She looked up, meeting his gaze once again. He looked hesitant - afraid - unsure of how to tell her what he needed to say.

"Daryl's been taken."

"I know," she whispered.

"This man Carol," he said shaking his head, and pushing himself off the wall, " _Negan_ ," he growled. "He's psychotic but he's smart and isn't afraid of anything. He's got more guns, more man power - He can't be beat."

"No one's undefeatable," she countered. The Governor hadn't been, the people at Terminus hadn't been, nor the people at Grady, nor the Wolves. Their people had taken on all of them and had come out on the other side.

"This is different," Rick argued, as if he had read her mind.

She stood silently regarding the man in front of her. She had never seen him like this before. He stood there looking like a man defeated, a man who had completely given up, a man who was ready to play by the rules of someone else's game. She did not like what she saw. It looked like she would be on her own for this one.

"I'm going to get Daryl back," she said, her tone icy, heading towards the door.

Rick grabbed her arm on the way passed, "Carol - we can't-"

"What?" She cried, yanking her arm out of his grasp. "We _can't_? What the hell does that mean? You can't leave him there. He would do whatever the hell he needed to do to get you back if the tables were reversed."

"If we follow Negan's terms," he punctuated each word slowly, avoiding her eyes, "he said Daryl would be given back"

"That man is a sick bastard who lies to get what he wants. Daryl's a dead man if he stays there - or worse and you know it." Her entire body shook, her anger controlling her every movement, her every word. "Where the hell is the Rick I know?" she growled, "The one who doesn't back down like a coward, the one who fights for his family - I - I don't know who this man is."

She turned away from him, unable to face him, afraid of what else she might say or do.

"I want to get Daryl back too - but-"

She angrily spun around to face him again, unwilling to hear his excuses. She got right in his face. "Why are you here!?"

Rick's shoulders sagged, it was as if all the fight he had left in him completely disappeared. "I wanted to see you," he said, his voice anguished. He took a breath and raised his gaze to meet hers. Tears once again pooling in the corners of his eyes. "I wanted to make sure you were ok - that you were alive. I can't lose anyone else."

His words froze her, her anger seeping out of her, her chest heaving from the exertion of their argument.

He continued before before she could say anything, "Carl won't talk to me. Michonne just barely does. Nothing's the same. I don't know what to do. Please Carol-"

"I get it," she said and she did. She didn't want to lose anyone else either, it was a part of the reason why she had had to leave. Now though, knowing that Daryl was in the hands of a madman, it had made things muddled.

"I just - I have to _do_ something. It's Daryl," she said, emotion lacing every word. She hoped Rick would understand.

"I've seen him- Daryl," Rick told her solemnly. "Negan brought him along on his first pickup. Barked orders at Daryl- treated him like he was a fucking dog." He shook his head, disgusted. "I've never seen Daryl look so-" he trailed off.

"Like what?" Her words were rushed, desperate.

"Broken"

Her eyes blinked furiously, trying to prevent tears from escaping, "We need to get him out of there," she breathed.

Rick nodded in agreement. "They've been working on a plan. Ezekiel and Jesus. He came here with Morgan and I."

Her brow furrowed.

"The man you found on the road?"

He nodded once again. They have been working with one of Negan's men"

"Dwight."

"Yes. I just don't know if we can trust him."

She had the same worries. "They brought his wife - Sherry here."

"You trust her?"

"I - I don't know."

There wasn't very many people you could trust in this world and she had walked away from those she did. It seemed like fate or whatever the hell you wanted to call it, had a different idea. Sherry could very well be a trap, a way to attempt to use the group against Daryl, help Negan to get what he wanted. Honestly though, she didn't think that was the case. The way Sherry had spoke, that look she had in her eyes. She herself had that same look for years, the look of a woman abused.

"She's what I have."

Rick nodded sharply and cleared his throat.

Her heart quivered with hope as Rick's face transformed. The fight that she was so used to seeing in him making a return.

"We'll do whatever it takes to get him back," he said.

Her eyes fluttered closed, relief washing over her that Rick had come to his senses. She just prayed that they weren't too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daryl is in this...I swear! 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Thoughts?


	3. Chapter 3

“It’s not much, is it?”

Sherry’s whisper broke through the silence as they walked through the small house. She hummed in agreement. The house truly wasn’t much to look at.

From the outside you could hardly make out it even was a house. Clematis had taken it over long ago, nearly every inch of each wall was covered in the wild vine. The shingles on the roof were rotting and pieces of the yellow siding hung haphazardly off what little of the walls you could see. Surrounding the house was an old cemetery. Many of the stones which marked the dead were cracked and falling apart, the grass nearly knee high. The inside was even more in shambles. Wood paneling was hanging from the ceiling, the sofa looked like it was infested by some sort of insect. Tables and chairs were broken and knocked over, a thick layer of dust covering them.

The house acted as an outpost for the Kingdom. A place where they would often exchange supplies with the Hilltop and a couple other groups that she had yet to meet anyone from. It was a barter system of sorts, it was smart and seemed to work well for them all. The only issue was the bully of the group, Negan. He took from them all with only the promise of safety from his neanderthal ways. _Bastard_. It had finally reached a point where every group was in agreement; Negan’s reign had to come to an end. The plan was set to be put into motion once Daryl was free. This house was where they had agreed to meet Dwight and the place where they would bring back Daryl once he had been rescued.

Her face scrunched in disgust as she walked head first into a massive cobweb that stretch across the doorway leading into the kitchen. She stopped abruptly, wiping the offending strings off of her face, Sherry promptly running into her.

“Sorry,” she muttered, “Just took out a spider's palace.”

Sherry snorted in amusement. “Probably for the best. Ezekiel wouldn’t be pleased with any kingly competition.”

Her bark of laughter was unexpected. It was her first genuine moment of amusement since...god-forever. It helped ease some of the tension. If circumstances had been different she could see herself having been good friends with Sherry.

She and Sherry had not come to the house alone. That man from the Hilltop that Daryl and Rick had captured, Jesus, had travelled with them. He was the one mostly in charge of Daryl’s rescue. He had spoken the most with Dwight and had the best knowledge on the layout of the Sanctuary, having been there before. Ezekiel's right hand man, Richard, had also made the trek, acting as a guide, getting them to the outpost and likely acting as a guard she assumed in case Sherry and Dwight tried something. There were two young men already at the house, Daniel and Brain, the former being one of the men who had found she and Morgan the few weeks prior. Ezekiel had explained to her that there were always two people stationed at each of the Kingdom’s outposts, there were four outposts in total.

She had said goodbye to Rick earlier that morning. He had put up a fuss, desperately wanting to be involved in Daryl's rescue but if Negan suspected that anyone from Alexandria was involved in Daryl's escape there would be retribution. There would be hell to pay for anyone involved which was why it was imperative that it appeared that Daryl had died during the escape. If Negan thought Daryl was still alive, he would never stop punishing people. He was that cruel and sadistic. It was a plan that had to be carefully executed.

Seeing Rick off had been harder than she expected. Ever since that fateful day at the prison, when Rick had sent her away, their relationship had never returned to what it once was. She had forgiven him of course, would have been a hypocrite if she hadn’t, and she understood his reasoning. It didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt like hell that he had cast her aside so easily. Rick was family though and she loved him.

“This isn’t goodbye,” he had said as they shared a hug. “Daryl will be back and the two of you will come home.” She didn’t have the heart to tell him that things for her hadn’t changed. Going back to Alexandria was still not in her plans. God, she had no idea what the hell her plan was. She had no idea where _home_ even was. She didn’t have a home. She wasn’t in the state of mind to worry herself over those details though, she was unable to think of anything but Daryl.

“What do we do now,” she turned to Jesus and Richard impatiently. Now that they were at the outpost she was ready to put the plan into action, ready to get Daryl out of the hellhole where he was imprisoned.

“Now, we wait,” Richard’s baritone travelled across the room, his gaze levelling her with a stare that said no arguments. Richard was a man that most people would think twice about messing with. He was solid muscle and had arms the size of tree trunks. He was Ezekiel's most trusted advisor, the head of security at the Kingdom and he was definitely not a fan of her. The only reason he was even here today was because Ezekiel had made him come. She wasn’t entirely sure why the man didn’t like her, perhaps it was because of the informal way she always addressed Ezekiel. She was nearly convinced that Richard was in love with the man from her weeks of observing. Or maybe it was that she and this entire situation with Daryl presented a threat to the mostly peaceful Kingdom and that made him anxious. Whatever the reason, it didn’t really matter to her, she’d deal with anything or anyone for Daryl.

However, Richard’s manner didn’t stop her from huffing in annoyance and making her exit from the kitchen a bit more dramatic then she would have ever done in the past.

She walked over to the back window in the small living room and leaned against the wall, looking out over the vast wooded area that surrounded the house.

“It shouldn’t be too much longer.”

Her body jolted in surprise. She hadn’t heard him enter, she was so lost in contemplation.

“Sorry,” Jesus mumbled, a tiny smile on his face. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Being light on your feet is an asset in this world.”

“That it is,” he agreed. “I don’t think I have ever formally introduced myself.” He stuck his hand out. “Jesus”

She stared at his hand before taking it. “How biblical.”

He snorted. “A nickname.” He motioned his hands to his hair. “Looked the part. It was easier to just accept the ribbing.”

“Carol.” She said, even though the formality was just for show. They both were well aware of who the other was from information passed to them by Rick, Ezekiel, and the others.

“You make outstanding cookies Carol. Best I ever had.”

She raised her eyebrow, not entirely sure when he would have partaked in her baking. Someone in Alexandria must have shared, she had made a batch big enough to give out to everyone. Baking always helped to make her forget. There was a lot she needed to forget.

“Daryl doesn’t share very well.”

Her brow furrowed, what an odd thing to say. Before she could comment, Daniel entered the house with a man she had never seen before. Dirty blond, straggly hair, a bit scrawny, a false bravado etched across his features. A horrible burn covering half of his face. Just exactly how Sherry had described him. _Dwight_.

Her suspicion was confirmed as Sherry flew across the room diving into his open arms. Their first time reunited since Sherry’s escape from the Sanctuary. They clung to one another, Sherry’s soft whimpers occasionally echoing in the quiet room. Finally Dwight pulled back, his hands gently caressing Sherry’s hair, his hands sliding down to cup her cheeks.

“I didn’t know if you made it.” Dwight murmured, his thumb sliding across her cheekbone, wiping away a lone teardrop that had fallen and then he pulled her to him again, whispering ‘ _I love you_ ’ into her ear.

Her fingers dug into her palm, the urge to throw the lamp that sat on the table next to her was almost overwhelming. It should be Daryl here. Not Dwight. It wasn’t fair that this _man_ who had killed Denise, who had shot Daryl, and who had played apart in Glenn’s death, should be here, be getting _this_ moment with the person he values most in the world. _It should be Daryl_.

“As much as I enjoy lovers reunited, we have a tight schedule to keep.” Jesus said, strolling over to the couple, rubbing his hand across his chin.

Dwight rolled his eyes, extracting himself from Sherry. “Are you ready? We got no room for mistakes today.”

Jesus scoffed, “I’ve bested Negan on several occasions. This? A piece of cake.”

She huffed in annoyance stepping forward, tired of the pissing contest going on in front of her. “Are the two of you done? I think it's about time we get things going.”

Dwight’s head swiveled towards her, his gaze slowly taking her in from head to toe and then back up again levelling her with a heavy stare.

“And just who might you be?” He drawled lazily.

Her jaw twitched and she resisted the urge to lash out at his pompous attitude.

Seeming to sense the tension in the room, Sherry stepped forward. “Dwight...this is Carol.”

If she had been in a more forgiving mood, she would have laughed at the pure shock that flashed across Dwight’s face.

“No shit?” He muttered, once again eyeing her from head to toe, this time with rapt interest. “Thought you were dead.”

He chuckled lightly, “Negan’s going to be pissed if he finds out you aren’t.”

“Why the hell would Negan care if I was alive or dead? I’m nobody to him.”

“Oh sweetheart,” she flinched at the endearment. Hated it when men belittled women in that way. “He knows _all_ about you. Lover boy wouldn’t stop moaning your name in his sleep. It made Negan _very_ interested in you. Daryl nearly lost his shit when Negan asked about a Carol when we were collecting supplies from your home turf. Grimes told us you were gone. Negan’s not going to be exactly delighted to find out that wasn’t quite the truth.”

“Rick didn’t lie. I was gone.” She tried to ignore the pain in her heart over the implication that Daryl may very likely think she was dead.

Dwight snickered, his lip curling up in loathing, “Negan is not one for technicalities.”

“Well then, guess it’s probably for the best he doesn’t find out I’m alive. You plannin’ on telling him?”

“Not in the foreseeable future. Don’t really want to see what he has planned for the other side of my face.” He lifted his hand indicating the cheek that had not been burned.

“Great,” she said, doing her best not to stare at the damage done to his face and imagining Daryl suffering a similar fate. “Let’s go over the details and get going.” They were wasting time. Time that Daryl may not have.

Dwight laughed. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Listen, Carol-” Richard spoke, interrupting the hostile conversation. “Ezekiel and everyone agreed that it’s for the best if only Dwight and Jesus go into The Sanctuary to get your friend.”

She turned angrily at the news, facing the large man with a glare. “Excuse me?” If these men thought that she was going to trust them with Daryl’s life, they had another thought coming.

Her head swivelled to address them all, “I’m going.”

“Look lady,” Dwight sighed, a hint of annoyance tinging his words. “It’s real swell that you want to go rescue lover boy,” he said, walking past her, crossing to the other side of the room. He didn’t even attempt to make eye contact with her as he spoke, out right dismissing her, “but we do not have the time or the manpower to take care of you out there-”

She was on him before he even had a chance to finish his sentence. Her arm wrapped around his neck from behind, her knife digging into the skin on his throat, only one small move away from finishing him if she wanted. She could see the trail of blood trickling down in the reflection of her blade.

Sherry screeched his name as everyone else stood wide-eyed, their hands hovering over their own weapons.

“You were saying?” She growled into his ear.

“You got spunk,” he chuckled lightly. “I can see the appeal - but Daryl- he’s your weakness and you are his. And Negan will use that if things go south. Plus, going into the Sanctuary - injured...you might as well sign your death warrant.” He brought his right leg back, kicking her hard, exactly in the spot she had been shot.

A sharp pain tore through her leg and she cried out, falling to the ground. Sherry screamed out Dwight’s name once again as the other men drew their weapons on him, Jesus grabbing him in a chokehold.

“Anyone with two eyes could see that you are favouring your right side,” Dwight said, looking at her on the ground. He shook his head, “Believe me, Negan or one of the other men would do a lot worse to you.” His tone had a hard edge to it still but it was laced in sadness and regret.

Daniel held out his hand to her, helping her off the ground while Dwight pushed his way out of Jesus’s loosened grasp. She inwardly cursed herself as she stumbled, not quite steady on her feet yet, the pain still excruciating. She hated that these injuries had made her weak, proving to everyone that they were right, that she shouldn’t go. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if something happened to Daryl because she had went along impaired. She also wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she didn’t go along and they were unable to rescue him. She didn’t trust Dwight - at all and she didn’t know Jesus well enough to trust him. Could she really leave Daryl’s rescue up to the two of them? With the way everyone was looking at her, she knew she didn’t have much of a choice.

With every ounce of frustration and anger that had built she levelled Dwight with the harshest stare she could muster. She really didn’t know what Sherry could see in this man.

“You don’t like me.” Dwight stated.

She didn’t have to answer, it hadn’t been a question, but she did anyway. “No.”

He nodded his head. “Fair enough.” His gaze drifted past her, looking at some unseen thing over her shoulder on the other side of the room. “I don’t really like me anymore either.”

She felt a twinge of empathy. That was something she could relate too. There was a self loathing that accompanied his words that reminded her of someone. He sniffed, his nose scrunching and she could visibly see the war going on behind his eyes. That’s when it hit her, the thing that made her the most angry about this man. He was so much like Daryl. His mannerisms, his speech patterns, the same self-deprecation that used to encompass all that Daryl did. Could this have been who Daryl would have turned out like if he had found Negan before Rick when everything had went to hell? _No_. She refused to believe that. This man in front of her, lacked Daryl’s compassionate heart.

Dwight ran a hand through his hair, sighing, looking her straight in the eye. “Look, I’ve got a damn debt to pay, so freeing Daryl is my main priority. I know you don’t trust me...but I always pay my debts.”

There was something different in his gaze this time that made her believe his words were sincere. She gave her head a sharp nod in acceptance.

Jesus and Dwight immediately snapped into action, gathering weapons and various other tools, going in and out of the house, filling the small car Dwight had driven to the outpost.

She watched anxiously, wringing her hands, feeling absolutely useless.

Finally it was time. Dwight had said his goodbyes to Sherry and now stood in front of her once again.

“He’s not going to believe me - that you’re here. I’m going to need something from you, some kind of proof that I am telling him the truth.”

He was right, Daryl likely wouldn’t believe him, making her long to go with them to reassure Daryl that it was real, that she was real. Her mind struggled with what to give him. She had no momentos...no memories that she wanted Dwight to be apart of and then something Daryl had said to her after Terminus struck a chord.

“Tell him I want to start over.”

Dwight’s nose wrinkled in confusion. “That’s not a lot to go by.”

“It’s enough. He’ll come.” And she knew he would.

* * *

Waiting. She had never had the patience for it. When she was a child, waiting for her birthday and Christmas had been a painstaking task. ‘ _It will come Carol-Ann. Be patient_ ’ her mother would always scold. As an adult, waiting for the roar of the bus coming down the street signalling Sophia’s return from school. How she would miss her throughout the day. And on the flip side, walking on eggshells when Ed was in a foul mood, waiting for his fist to strike. How she prayed that he would just do it, get it over with, so she could move on with her day.

A couple days had passed by now, waiting in the small house. She had barely slept, only occasionally falling into a fitful sleep when her body just couldn’t take it anymore. The rest of the time she sat on the small window bench staring out into the vast wilderness wanting so desperately to will Daryl into that place.

She wrapped his vest around her tighter. Even after being worn by Dwight and Sherry, it still smelled so uniquely like Daryl. She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent. God, how many times had they been separated, worried about the fate of the other? Too many damn times. This time when she had left though, she had just needed to be away but she had clung to the idea that Daryl and the others were living life safe and happy. She ignored the part of her brain that screamed that was naive to think in this world today. It was possible to be happy though, it had to be. Maggie and Glenn had been happy, yet Glenn had been ripped away from her in the most heinous way possible. She wondered if it had been worth it for Maggie, loving Glenn only to face this heartbreak now. If she could go back and redo everything, would she choose the same path knowing how it would end for the two of them? Of course she would. She would marry Ed again in a heartbeat knowing it would give her Sophia. Her only regret was that she didn’t leave him when she had had the chance, that time when Sophia had been about three years old, and she had taken her to that shelter. Although if she had left Ed, she would have likely never met the others, never met Daryl. Life was funny sometimes.

“You really weren't together?” Sherry’s voice broke through her musings.

“Not like that,” she answered, still staring out the window. She turned to look at the other woman, “It was _more_ than that.”

Sherry nodded, smiling sadly as she slid down to sit next to her on the window bench.   
“I’m sorry about Dwight’s behaviour the other day.”

She started to shake her head back and forth, “Don’t ever apologize for someone else’s actions.” She had done that enough in her lifetime. Although, Ed and Dwight were far from similar. She could tell Dwight loved Sherry more than anything.

Sherry leaned her head back against the glass, a wistful expression on her face, “He wasn’t always like this. God, he used to be so shy.” She turn back to look at her, a sad smile on her face, “He was a carpenter. That’s how we met. He was remodelling my bathroom and we just kept staring at one another and finally I worked up the nerve to just go in there and ask him out. I charged into the bathroom and said, ‘I’m free Friday night, you’re taking me out.” Sherry laughed, her face lighting up and she couldn’t help but smile back in return.

“I startled him so bad,” she continued, “he sat up and whacked his head on the bottom of the cabinet. We’ve been together ever since. Got married on the beach. It was a perfect day.” Sherry’s smile faded, her voice growing more quiet, “I had just found out I was pregnant when everything went to hell. He didn’t make it.”

On instinct, she reached out and grasped Sherry’s arm, wanting to comfort the woman over the loss that she knew all too well. Sherry offered her a grateful smile and placed her own hand overtop of hers.

The gesture urged her to speak as well. “My husband was an asshole. If he’d made it, he probably would have turned out a lot like Negan. I was his favourite punching bag. But he did give me one good thing. My Sophia.”

Sherry grinned at the news that she had a child, but moments later the smile slowly faded as she realized what must have been Sophia’s fate since no child was present.

It was like some latch had been opened and all she could see was Sophia in her mind. So innocent and so beautiful and she couldn’t fight the desire to talk about her to this woman in front of her who was essentially a stranger. “She was so kind and beautiful. Always wanting to help others. Not one ounce of Ed in her at all. Just perfect.” She closed her eyes tightly, trying to get rid of the image of Sophia as a walker from her brain. She refused to remember her little girl that way. “That’s why I left my family,” she said, her breathing more ragged than before. “If you love people, you have to kill to protect them. And I just - I can’t go to hell. Sophia won’t be there. And I _need_ to see her again.”

And there it was. What she struggled with the most. If she was hell bound, she would never see Sophia again and that was something that she just could not live with.

A tear fell down her cheek and she blinked in surprise, bringing her hand to swipe at her cheek, only to find it completely wet. When had she started crying?

Sherry’s hand tightened over hers and she blinked in surprise, momentarily having forgotten the woman was there. “I don’t think the rules are the same as what they used to be. It’s impossible. I think God, if there is a God, would take that into consideration. Carol, that you even are thinking like this - you’ll see her again. I know it. Just like I know I’ll see my baby again.”

They smiled softly at one another and she was grateful for Sherry’s presence.

Sherry looked passed her outside and a small gasp fell from her lips. “Carol,” she breathed, pointing over her shoulder. Her head turned sharply, her hand pressing against the glass of the window. Her heart hammered as Jesus came into view just beyond the tree line. She shifted to her knees needing to get a better look. Her entire body shook as her eyes strained to see further. _Please, please, please_.

Jesus stepped into the clearing, about fifty feet from the house. A body moved out from behind him, long, dark hair hiding their face from view. She cried out in relief and was immediately on her feet, running to the door. With shaking hands she fumbled with the chain, growling in frustration when it stuck. Pulling harder the chain finally broke free and she threw open the door rushing out onto the porch. She slowed and paused at the edge of the veranda, tears filling her eyes as she took him in. He had yet to see her, now about twenty feet from the house. He was slimmer, his cheeks from what she could see seemed hollow and pale. He was limping slightly and was holding on to his right arm. He was wearing some loose clothing, a uniform of some sort, a large letter A sprawled out on it, in what looked like blood. At that moment though, he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

Jesus saw her first. He tugged slightly on Daryl’s sleeve, nodding his head in her direction. Daryl’s head slowly began to lift and his gaze fell onto her. He came to a dead stop, his eyes widened slightly and a sound unlike anything she had ever heard emitted from his throat. A high, strangled, piercing sound like a wild animal who just got caught in a trap.

Her hand flew to her mouth as his knees began to buckle. Jesus grabbed his arm, helping lower him to the ground. She shot off the porch, running the last few feet to reach him, sinking to her knees on the ground in front of him. She cupped his cheeks in her hands, tilting his chin so he was looking at her. His cheeks were wet from the tears that had fallen and his entire body seemed to be convulsing, he was shaking so badly. Her vision blurred, her own tears falling fast and steady.

“Daryl,” she whispered, her voice cracking, “It’s ok. I’m here.”

He lurched forward then, nearly knocking her over, his arms wrapping around her desperately. Her arms entwined around him and she buried her face into the hollow of his neck soaking in everything about him. His warmth, his scent, his mere presence.

As the two of them knelt there in the grass, wrapped in each other's embrace, crying tears of joy, she knew that no matter what happened, she could not bring herself to say goodbye to Daryl Dixon anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally reunited! Next chapter is all Carol and Daryl you guys! 
> 
> I apologize to those you may have wanted Carol to be apart of the rescue, but I really am not good at writing action and this fic has always been intended to be more of a character piece. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought. What are your hopes for the Carol/Daryl talk?
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. Final chapter. Sorry it took a bit. I was busy doin' stuff and thangs! (Atlanta WS...meeting Mel! Seeing Norman again! It was aaaamazing!)
> 
> Safe to say, this little fic is completely AU now that we have seen some stuff. 
> 
> Hope you still enjoy!

The air in the house was warm and sticky, the kind of heat that made it a task to even breathe.  Thankfully someone had felt compelled to open the small window a fraction in the upstairs bedroom.  A cool breeze was floating across the room and she breathed it in, taking some small comfort from it.  

The bedroom was in surprisingly better shape than the rest of the house.  The bed was well intact and there were a couple of chairs that sat in the corner at a small table and they actually appeared to be something you could sit down on.  Daniel had suggested the bedroom and adjacent bathroom as a place for Daryl to clean up in and rest and she had accepted quickly on his behalf, desperate for privacy.    
   
Daryl had been quiet since their emotional reunion but had stuck fairly close to her.  He was moving slow but was on alert, his eyes wide, taking in the location and the new faces.  Listening and mentally figuring out every exit and weapon that could be used.  He had immediately fled into the bathroom when they were finally upstairs after she had told him there was running water and a change of clothes for him sitting on the vanity.  She had never seen him so eager to wash and it made her heart twist.    
   
She moved around the room fiddling with various pieces of furniture, turning down the bed and then changing her mind and returning it to the way it was. Her entire body was full of nervous energy.  
   
The door creaked, signalling Daryl was done and she stood straight, attempting to appear relaxed.    
   
He pushed out of the bathroom almost timidly, his hair hanging wildly and wet in his face.  She could tell he had done his best to clean up and her heart swelled with such affection for him.  
   
He was clutching the clothes he had been wearing when he arrived in his hand.  Spotting a trash can, he hurled the garments into the basket with more force than was warranted.  His breath hitched and he grimaced in pain and she could no longer resist the urge to go to him.  
 

Her hand stroked his arm and his entire body tightened, flinching away slightly.  The exact reaction he had back at the farm, lying on that bed, injured during his search for Sophia.  She felt a wave of anger against Negan and his men for the part they played in reverting him back to that stage of trepidation.

  
 “Daryl,” she whispered his name, every intense emotion she was feeling coming alive in that one word. His hardened expression softened and his stance relaxed.  She took that as a sign that her touch was welcomed.  She reached up caressing his cheek and he immediately leaned into her, a shaky sigh passing through his lips.    
 

“Talk to me,” she pleaded.

 A new tension entered his frame and he pulled away, his eyes narrowing in on her, “What, like you talk t’me?”  
 

It was a low blow, but true nonetheless.  She hadn’t talked to him, truly talked to him, in so long.  She almost forgot how.

“That’s different,” she finally said, “ I - I can’t.”  
 

“That’s bullshit,” he snapped and she couldn’t help but flinch at his reaction.  “Yer ‘fraid I’ll look at y’differently.”

Her eyes slammed shut, and she could feel the heavy weight of panic start to settle in her chest.  She took a deep breath and then another, focusing her energy on not breaking down.   She couldn’t.  Not yet.  Not now.  Daryl could always see right through her.  He knew her better than she knew herself.  It's why she had needed to distance herself from him once they had been reunited after Terminus.     
   
Breathing deeply one more time, she slowly opened her eyes.  Her heart ached at the concern, and the devotion that flickered in his gaze as he silently pleaded with her.  
   
“You will,” she said.  Of course he would see her differently and that terrified her.  
 

“I’ll look at y’the same goddamn way I’ve always looked at ya,” he cried out, his frustration evident.  His head dropped and his entire body seemed to deflate.  He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his gaze focused intently on his feet.   “Ev’ryone said y’were dead,” he muttered, so quietly that she could barely manage to hear what he had said.  He looked up then, his gaze zoning in on her with the intensity that always made her feel so exposed.  “Didn’t believe it.  R’fused to,” his voice crackled with emotion.

The heavy weight of his stare and his words were too much and she had to look away.  
 

“Nine lives, remember?”  

It was meant to lighten the situation, defuse the tension that laced the room but Daryl's shaky sigh and frown told her that this blast from the past was not welcomed humour.  So much had happened since that day Daryl had found her alive in the tombs, so many lifetimes seemed to have passed them by.  How many of those nine lives had she used, had Daryl used?  Those lives could run out at any moment but yet, here they were once again, reunited.  
 

They stood in silence.  She knew Daryl enough to know he needed a moment.  She watched him closely, his hands fidgeting with the knife that hung at his side, processing, contemplating.

“You should eat something,” she finally said, indicating the tray of food Daniel had left on the small table in the corner.  
 

“Y’left.”

She frowned, her eyes squinting in confusion as she took in his words.    
 

“Y’didn’ even say goodbye.”

Her head fell forward and her eyes fluttered closed, her heart twisting from the sadness and the hint of betrayal laced in Daryl's tone.   _Alexandria_.  
 

Taking a breath, she forced her eyes open and focused in on him.

“I knew you’d understand,” she said, echoing words Rick had once told her Daryl had said when he had left the prison.  It had been true then, she had understood even though her heart had ached.  
 

Daryl swallowed, rubbing his forehead, the words not lost on him at all.  “I’m tryin’ to,” he mumbled.

“I left a note.”    
   
The excuse felt weak but it was all she had to offer at that moment.  Daryl said nothing, but she knew the topic of conversation was far from over, for now he was choosing not to push her.  She was grateful.    
   
“Please - Daryl - you need to eat,” she tried again.  Based on what Sherry had told her, the prisoner’s at the Sanctuary had very limited meal options.  
   
“Have you?”  
   
Of course he’d be worried about her.  
   
“A little.”  
   
He stared at her his expression clearly saying ‘ _I don’t believe you_.’  
   
God, it terrified her how much he knew her.  
   
She walked over to the table and picked up an apple slice from the tray.  She bit into it, her eyes locked in a stubborn war with Daryl.  She lifted her eyebrows in a challenge ignoring the juice that dripped down her chin.  
 

Daryl broke eye contact first, snorting in amusement and shaking his head, his lips turning slightly upward.  

He started towards her, grabbing an apple of his own and tossing the entire slice into his mouth, his eyes locked on hers the entire time.  A smile tugged at her lips as well, their antics enough to dissolve the tension that had grabbed ahold of them both.  
   
They ate in silence.  She picked at the food, nibbling at the various fruits and vegetables that filled the platter.  She could tell that Daryl was doing his best not to shovel the food into his mouth.  His apparent starvation fuelled the anger in her heart at the man they called Negan.  
   
They sat at the table long after the food was gone.  Daryl looked completely dead on his feet, doing everything in his power to keep his eyes open.    
 

“You need sleep.”

He looked up, he looked so small, so vulnerable, so unlike himself.  “Not sure if I can.”  
   
She stood up, and walked over to him, her hand caressing his bicep.  “We’ll talk in the morning.”  
   
 “Y’gonna be here?”  The words were not said to hurt her but the sting was still there nonetheless.  That was on her though, not Daryl.  
   
She squeezed his arm, “Not going anywhere - staying right here.”  
   
“You’ll sleep too?”  
 

“I’ll try.”

He nodded his head and stood up, heading towards the chair.  
   
Her eyes squinted in confusion. “Where you going?  
   
He indicated the chair, “Sleep.”  
   
She shook her head, she was not having any of that.  “The bed,” she said in a firm voice, pointing at it for added effect.  
   
“You take it,” he mumbled, not quite looking at her, biting at the pad of his thumb.  
   
“Daryl…,” their gazes locked.  He was always so stubborn.  “We’ll share,” she compromised.  They had shared beds in the past, this would be no different.  That was what she tried to tell herself anyway.    
   
Daryl seemed to accept the suggestion though, turning towards the bed and dropping down onto it in a heap, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he sank down further into the mattress.  
   
He watched her with heavy lids as she approached the bed, lowering herself onto the ledge.  
   
She startled when his hand grabbed the edge of his vest that she was still wearing.  She had completely forgot that she even had it on.  
   
“Looks good on ya,” he drawled.  Her heart stuttered at the words and her stomach launched into intense somersaults.  She cleared her throat, attempting to give herself time to gain control over the butterflies that had taken control.    
   
“Forgot I was even wearing it,” she mumbled.  
   
Reaching behind her she pulled at the vest to take it off.   She jumped slightly when his hand gripped her elbow, grunting in the negative.  
   
“Leave it.”  His voice was raspy, the very cadence of it sending a shiver down her spine.  His hand left her elbow and slid slowly down her arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.  She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his hand’s journey.  Couldn’t blink.  Couldn’t breathe.    
   
He gently cradled her hand in his own, tracing lightly over each of her fingers.  His attention riveted to the task, like he was memorizing every line, every freckle.  She remained frozen, afraid to move, never wanting to break the spell that they were under.  Daryl’s touch had come more freely since when they had first met, but never had it been this bold, this intimate.    
   
She wasn’t sure how long they remained like that.  Silent and hand in hand.  She savoured his touch, the warmth and the way his thumb delicately stroked her skin.  It was easy to pretend that everything was fine, that it was just him and her on a quiet, lazy, Sunday evening.      
   
Finally his hand stilled and she chanced a look over, finding him fast asleep.  She carefully maneuvered herself to lie next to him, making sure to not let go of his hand.  Her eyes watched the rise and fall of his chest.  He was there.  He was alive. Her eyes drifted shut as she vowed to herself that she would move heaven and earth to ensure that they were never separated again.  
 

* * *

   
 The sound of birds chirping was the first sound that registered when she finally roused.  Normal.  Comforting.  She sunk down further into the plush pillow, the warm cocoon she was wrapped in beckoning her to drift back into the land of dreams.  Still half asleep, she reached for him, but her hand only found cool sheets, emptiness.  She jolted awake, sitting up with such force, her knife wound on her side stretched apart.  Ignoring the pain, her eyes scanned the room, her stomach lurching in fear.   _Where was he_?  
   
It didn’t take her long to realise he hadn't gone far, he was sitting on the small wooden chair by the window watching her.  The unexpected tension that had filled her, drained, relief washing over her.  He looked better.  His cheeks were rosy and the cuts on his face seemed less harsh in the morning light.  He obviously hadn't slept much the night before though. There were still heavy bags under his eyes and that worried her.    
   
“Slept more last night than I’ve in awhile,” he said as if reading her mind.  He didn't offer more than that and she knew better than to press.  He'd tell her when he was ready.    
   
She pushed herself further up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.  She winced in pain having forgotten that she had reawakened the wound on her stomach when she had sprung up thinking Daryl had gone.    
   
Daryl was in front of her before she even had a chance to check it over.  
   
“You hurt?”  His words were rushed and slightly panicked.  
   
She didn’t want to lie.  
   
“Knife wound - in a tricky place to heal.”  She lifted her shirt slightly to show him the angry red mark.   “Looks worse than it is,” she reassured.  
   
He lifted his arm, reaching out to touch her stomach but just falling short, his hand dropping to his side and she couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed.  
   
She dropped her shirt and cleared her throat, her disappointment surprising her.  
   
“How?”  Daryl asked, his voice rough.  
   
She inwardly flinched at his question, knew that her answer would be the last thing he wanted to hear.  It was impossible to keep the truth from him nor did she want to.  
   
She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye, “Saviours.”  
   
His entire face grimaced, “Fuck!” He growled, his fingers tightening into a fist as he paced angrily away.    
   
It was probably for the best if she didn’t mention the two gunshot wounds she had suffered by their hands as well.    
   
She stood, ignoring the ache and grabbed his arm, pulling on him gently to get his attention.  She waited until his gaze met hers, “I’m fine.”  
   
He huffed but his body lost some of the tension it had been holding.  She knew that would be as good as she would be getting at that moment.    
   
“You alright?”  She asked.  “I need to use the washroom.”  
   
He nodded his head, quick and sharp.  
   
“OK - I’ll be right back.”  
   
She needed the time to gather her thoughts.  There was so much left unsaid between them, she knew the conversation they would have that day would be difficult no matter which direction it ended up going in.  It was time though.  Things were different.  She could sense it.  She was ready.   _They_ were ready.  
   
She went about her business fairly quickly.  She reluctantly took off Daryl’s vest, the day was warming up and the upstairs in the house was already starting to feel like a sauna.  She folded it carefully and placed it on the small vanity.  She would wash it later so it was fresh and clean when Daryl was ready to wear it again.    
   
She splashed water on her face and gargled with the mouthwash that sat by the sink.  Daniel had mentioned there being some first aid supplies in the cupboard above the vanity.  Perhaps there was some ointment and bandages for the scratches on Daryl's face.     
   
She pulled open the door and froze, blinking several times, surprised when she came face to face with her own reflection.  
   
It always took her back when she looked in a mirror.  How much older she looked, the lines that had appeared around her eyes, all the new freckles she had courtesy of the hot Georgia sun, the weariness that was on full display across her features from all that she had faced, from all that she had done.  Today though, there was a brightness in her eyes, a rosy hue in her cheeks that she hadn’t seen in so very long.   _Daryl_.  He’d done that.    
   
She grabbed what she needed and hurried across the room, the need to see him, to physically touch him, driving her to move quickly.      
   
She jumped when she opened the door, startled to see him standing right there, looking lost.    
   
“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I jus-...”he trailed off, his gaze was on the ground, and his hair hung over his face.  
   
“It’s alright,” she soothed, saving him from having to explain his neediness.  She knew exactly how he felt in that respect.  “Come on,” she urged, “I want to put some of this on your scratches,” she lifted the small tube of ointment to show him,  “if that‘s ok with you.”  
   
He nodded his head and let her pull him to the bed.  
   
“Sit,” she gently demanded.  He followed her command with no arguments.  
   
She started with the scratch on his forehead.  She pushed back his hair and carefully covered the wound with the cream and a bandage. The scratch on his cheek was longer and deeper but it didn’t seem bad enough to require stitches.    
   
“Got them gettin’ out,” he muttered quietly.  
   
Her finger stopped mid-stroke, hovering over his cheekbone, afraid to move in fear it would stop him from talking, stop him from finally sharing something of his experience with her.    
   
“Was runnin’ under a wire fence.  Were walkers all over the damn place,” he mumbled.  He shook his head, “So many times thought it was gonna be the end.  Sometimes, thought it’d be easier, y’know?” He looked up at her quickly before darting his eyes away once again.  
   
She felt sick to her stomach at the thought of Daryl’s time coming to an end, but she did her best not to show any reaction.  She completely understood what he was saying, had felt it too.  
   
“What changed your mind?” she asked, her voice cautious and soft.    
   
His gaze found hers once more, only this time his stare had her feeling weak in the knees, it was almost….smouldering.    
   
“There are things I ain’t finished,” he roughly drawled.  
   
Her stomach fluttered and she swallowed, hard, unable to tear her eyes away from his heated gaze.  What the hell was happening?  
   
She jumped when there was a loud knock at the door, the sound eruptly ending their intense exchange.    
   
She inwardly cursed and swivelled around to face the door sending the unseen intruder a narrowed glare.    
   
“Yes,” she called out, doing her best to hide any irritation from her voice.  
   
The door swung open revealing Daniel in full Kingdom gear.  He tipped his head in greeting.  “King Ezekiel’s radioing in.  He promised Grimes a full update once Dixon was rescued.”  
   
She sensed Daryl’s tension at the mention of Rick, having forgotten that he was unaware that she had been in contact with any of their family.    
   
“Right,” she muttered and quickly relayed to Daniel what he could tell Ezekiel.    
   
Daryl was quiet after Daniel had left, staring at the floor, his fingers fidgeting, picking at the skin around his thumb’s nail.  She knew he was processing and she remained quiet allowing him time to think things through.  
   
It didn’t take too long.  
   
“Y’seen Rick?”  His voice was low but laced with emotion.  She fought the urge to reach out to him and comfort him.  
   
“He was at the Kingdom.  He wanted to be a part of your extraction but if he had been seen-” She left the rest unsaid, not wanting to put a voice to the horrors Daryl had already witnessed.    
   
Daryl sniffed, his face contorting into a grimace before regaining control of his emotions once more.  “He say much?”  
   
Tears filled her eyes, unbidden, her thoughts turning to Abraham... _Glenn_.  
   
“Said a lot,” her voice wavered and Daryl’s entire body slumped, his hands immediately covering his face to hide his own tears.    
   
She dropped to her knees in front of him, cupping his cheeks over his own hands, the need to comfort and assure him overwhelming her.  
   
“It’s not your fault,” she whispered.    
   
He made a strangled sound, the noise muffled by his hands that still covered his face.    
   
She shook his head gently wanting desperately for him to see reason, “This. Isn’t. Your. Fault.”  She punctuated each word clearly and with conviction.    
   
Daryl’s entire body shook and she had to strain to hear his voice.    
   
“Had his whole life ‘head of ‘him - Maggie - and the - the baby,” he choked.  “If I just hadn’t lost my shit - kept my damn mouth shut- thought it'd be me….was suppose t’be me.”  
   
A shiver went down her spine at the thought of Daryl sacrificing himself.  
   
“No!  Look at me Daryl -.”  She shook him a bit more roughly, “ Look at me!”  His hands reluctantly moved away from his face but his gaze remained stubbornly on the ground, avoiding her gaze.  
   
She ducked her head and moved in closer to him, forcing his eyes to meet hers.  
   
“You and me- we’ve dealt with people like them our entire lives.  The acts they commit - the shit _they_ do - that isn’t on us.  Don’t let them win.  This was the act of a sick man -  this was not your fault.”    
   
He sat unmoving, but tears were overflowing from his eyes and she knew he was hearing her, that she was getting through to him.    
   
“Daryl,” she breathed.  
   
He surged forward at his name, his head crashing into her chest.  His weight nearly knocked her over but she held on.  She pushed her fingers through his hair, stroking his head in comfort, her own tears falling.  
   
She wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that.  Her on her knees and him leaning against her, both of them taking comfort from the other, mourning the loss of their friends, of their lives before Negan had stolen pieces of their hearts.  
   
It was she who broke the contact first, not because she wanted to, but because her knees had lost all feeling. Not wanting to completely break the connection, she made sure to grab his hand as they untangled and she stood  She sat on the bed beside him, getting as close as possible to him without actually sitting on him.  He made no attempt to move to distance himself or pull his hand out of her grasp.    
   
“What else Rick say,” he asked after a few moments, breaking the silence they had fallen into, his voice groggy and quiet.    
   
She cleared her throat, “Said things are unsettled at Alexandria - some people aren't exactly thrilled with how he was handling things.  He’s changed though - said he's ready to fight back - everyone is.  We can all turn this around - working together.  Negan doesn’t stand a-”  
   
“NO!”    
   
She jumped as he abruptly stood, his eyes wide and his breathing rapid, panic seeping from every part of him.  He looked once again the part of a wild animal.    
   
“Y’won’t be involved in whatever t’hell this is,” he was practically shouting, his finger jabbing the air between them.  
   
“Daryl-” she started soothingly, attempting to calm him using her voice. She didn’t move, didn’t want to push him away.  He had to see reason though.  “I already am involved,” she said.  
   
‘Fuck that!”  He growled, turning away from her sharply and pushing an angry hand through his hair.    
   
His breathing was out of control, heavy and frantic.  He was having a classic panic attack.  
   
“Don’t want ya-” he sucked in some air, gasping from the lack of oxygen, “anywhere,” another gulp of air, “near that bastard.”  
   
“Ok -Ok,” she promised, rising from the bed and rushing over to him,  “I won’t.” She placed her hands around his biceps and began to move in gentle strokes, up and down.  “Please Daryl - just breathe with me.”  She took a deep breath, “In,” then released it, “and out.”  She repeated that a few more times until he was following her.  She didn't stop until his breathing had returned to somewhat normal.  
   
He needed a distraction.  
   
“Let’s get outta here,” she quietly mumbled  
   
“What?” He stuttered, his eyes blinking rapidly.  
   
“I’ve always wanted to go to Paris.  Come to Paris with me?”  
   
He stared at her for a moment before catching on and then he snorted.  “A’right-” he drawled, “catch next flight out.”  
   
She couldn’t help but smile.  She would love nothing more than to go somewhere with Daryl.  Watch the sunset from the Eiffel Tower, go on a boat ride along the Seine, stroll hand in hand down Rue de l'Abreuvoir.    
   
She closed her eyes, she was letting her mind run wild, imagining impossible scenarios, imagining things she didn't deserve.  
   
“I’m sorry.”  
   
Daryl’s brow furrowed, confused.  
   
She smiled sadly, there was so much she had to be sorry about.  
   
“Haven't been myself lately,” she tried to explain, dropping her hands and backing away, needing to distance herself. “God, I don't even know who the real me is anymore,” she said, shaking her head,  “Don't know if I ever have.”  
   
He was watching her with his eagle eyes and it was making her feel completely exposed.    
   
She laughed, the sound coming out like a nervous twitter.  “When you look at me like that - it's like you see exactly who I am.  From the very moment that we met, you _knew_ me.”    
   
She looked away from his searching stare and swallowed heavily, “ It scares the hell out of me,” she mumbled.  “It's why I just couldn't be around you and the others.  I just needed to forget.”  
   
She laughed again, dry and humourless, “Turns out I couldn’t forget.”    
   
“Talk t’me,” Daryl’s soft baritone carried across the space between them.  He made it sound so easy.  There was so much she wanted to tell him and so much she was terrified to say out loud.  
   
“Carol.”  Her name, a plea, from his lips was her undoing.    
   
“I’m a monster.”  The confession fell from her mouth and simultaneously she felt relief and absolute dread of her secret finally being out in the open.     
   
She heard him take a step forward. “You ain’t no monster,” he said the words with force, the tone he used made it seem like her statement was the craziest thing he had ever heard and it pissed her off.    
   
He didn’t even know what she had done.  He’d see soon enough that she was not worth his kindness, his loyalty.    
   
“I killed Lizzie!”  
   
She had meant to shout the admission at him, to yell the words so loud that they stung him as much as they stung her. She needed to see the disgust in his gaze when he looked at her.  
   
But the words come out of her mouth in a strangled cry instead and the tears that followed betrayed her. And the way Daryl looked at her was not in hateful disgust like she had convinced herself.  His gaze was only heartbreaking sympathy.  It was as if he had already guessed what she was going to tell him and had been just waiting for her to catch up and confirm.  She felt herself shudder.  Whether it was in disbelief, anger or relief, she wasn’t sure.    
   
He didn’t move to comfort her and for that she was thankful.  She didn’t think she could handle that, not right in that moment.    
   
“Tell me,” he urged.  
   
“She thought walkers were still people - that they had thoughts and feelings.”  She brushed the back of her hand over her wet cheek, “ I just didn’t see it.  I _should_ have seen it.”  
   
She let out a low growl, “We shouldn’t have left. _I_ shouldn’t have left.”  
   
“What happened?”  Daryl asked, his voice soft and soothing and suddenly she wanted to tell him everything.  The weight of it had just became too much to bare.  
   
“Tyreese and I,” she began, “we were only gone for a little while.  We got back and - Lizzie, she had - she had-,” she paused and closed her eyes.  Her stomach was churning and her heart felt like it was going to beat right out of her chest as the memories of that day flooded her mind.  She took a steadying breath before opening her eyes once more, “She had killed Mika - was going to kill Judith too.  She wanted to show us that when they came back that they would still be them.   _Don’t worry...she’ll come back - I didn’t hurt her brain - We have to wait - we have to wait - you’ll finally get it_ -,” her voice wavered as she recalled Lizzie’s plea.    
   
It had gotten really warm and she felt unsteady on her feet.  She started to sway and Daryl was beside her in an instant.   He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, pulling her against him and guiding her to the bed.  Once he had her sitting, he disappeared into the bathroom before reappearing in front of her with a glass of water.    
   
She reached out to take it from him.  Her hand was shaking and the water sloshed violently in the glass spilling out onto her hand.  Daryl cupped his hand over hers, helping to steady the glass and guide it to her mouth.    
   
“I should have done something different,” she said.  
   
“What could ya’ve done?  The world ain’t like how it used to be.  There was no place f’her to go - no treatments.  Was the only way.”  
   
“I should’ve went off with her - left Tyreese with Judith.”  
   
“Y’cain’t be ‘wake all the time.  She thought they were her friends - she would’ve gotten ‘erself killed - _you_ killed.”  She heard him huff out a frustrated sigh, “Wish I’d been there - so this hadn’t fell to you.”  
   
She closed her eyes, tears once again threatening to fall.  The fact that he understood, that he cared still, that he would have taken that burden for her if he’d been able.  It left her completely overcome with emotions.    
   
“Hey,” he gently drawled, tipping her chin up with his thumb, so they were looking eye to eye. “In the end - she was with someone who loved her.  That’s somethin’ we all hope for, even ‘fore the world went to shit.”  
   
He moved his thumb and stroked her cheek, wiping away a falling teardrop.  “You’re not a monster,” he said, his voice almost a whisper,  “Y’loved her.  Y’did right by her.  By them all.”  
   
She whimpered and leaned into his touch, trying her best to soak in his words, to believe in what he was saying even if she wasn’t quite there yet.  A part of her knew what she had done was the only way but it still haunted her, probably would till the end of her days.  Having said it outloud though, it had been almost cleansing.  That weight that she had been carrying around was gone and she felt like she could finally breathe again.    
   
“I’m so tired,” she whispered.  
   
“I know.  Me too,” he quietly agreed, his thumb still grazing across her cheekbone, back and forth.    
   
Her eyes were growing heavy and it was barely noon.    
   
Daryl’s hand slid off her cheek and he went to put the glass of water on the table and she couldn’t help but feel saddened over the loss of his touch.  Craved it still.  
   
“Lie down for awhile?” His voice carried across the room, low and gravelly.   She knew there was so much to do but she felt herself nod, she truly was exhausted.  The emotional rollercoaster she had been on these last few days, hell - the last year, finally catching up to her.  
   
She sighed softly when her head sank back into that plush pillow.  A luxury she would never take for granted again.  She closed her eyes, relishing the peace she hadn’t felt in so long.    
   
The bed shifted and her eyes flew open, the restlessness next to her a clear indication that Daryl was beside her and anxious, indecisive.   After a few moments the bed shifted once again and Daryl’s warm breath tickled the back of her neck.  Her heart rate skyrocketed, beating so hard in her chest she was sure Daryl would be able to hear it.  She longed for him to bring himself closer and wrap his arm around her, hold her, but she didn’t want to assume or push him past his comfort level.  It was still a step in their relationship he may not be ready for even though his touch was becoming more and more frequent.     
   
Her heart soared when she felt his hand land on hers, his rough calluses the best feeling in the world.  Sensing his doubt, she shuffled herself backwards so her body was flush against his.  His sigh was immediate and she felt his nose press into her hair and his arm stretched out, pulling her even closer.  
   
There was still so much they had to talk about.  She knew he had suffered greatly being held by Negan and the Saviours and she desperately wanted to be there for him.  And she would be, she just knew he needed some time.  She’d be there for him, just like he had been there for her today.  There was still so much they had yet to face in the future as well.  The groups were finally coming together, making a stand, ready to fight the true monsters.  She still wasn’t sure if she was ready to kill but it was becoming clearer in her mind that sometimes killing was necessary in this world they now lived, that there was a difference in killing to save those you loved versus killing for the sport or for the power.  That the true problem laid if you ever found happiness or glee or even strength in it.  
   
She wasn’t going to let herself over think things right there though, in that moment.  She was just going to let things be for a couple hours, relax and rest.  Lying there wrapped in Daryl’s arms, she felt safe, she felt loved, and she finally felt like she was home.  For now, it was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading!! 
> 
> I had previously thought of adding an epilogue to look at Daryl and Carol a bit in the future and where they are at, but I think I am satisfied with this ending. Let you the reader decide what happens after this. 
> 
> Thanks again! Feel free to leave your thinky thoughts.


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